


all the useless things

by Icestorm238



Series: dbh oneshots [4]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Simon needs a hug, Some Self-Hatred, Unrequited Love, yet another 'simon pines for markus' fic because i am weak
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-22
Updated: 2018-08-22
Packaged: 2019-07-01 06:22:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15768399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Icestorm238/pseuds/Icestorm238
Summary: "It is only when that same man levels a gun to Simon’s head that he realises just how far in the ranks he’s fallen."Inaction is Simon's claim to fame.He cannot help but admire Markus for being his complete opposite, and that admiration grows into something more.





	all the useless things

For two long, painful years Simon has stayed hidden in Jericho.

He isn’t sure when he progressed to leader. It had happened naturally; he was one of the oldest members of Jericho. Everyone knew him, admired him, came to him for advice. Soon enough they were waiting on his instructions.

Leadership was not something Simon ever craved. The knowledge that so many rely on you is a burden few can bear, and Simon isn’t always sure how he managed it.

  
  
  


He was saved from having to carry that weight when their saviour fell into their midst like an angel sent from the heavens.

Dark skin, a lean body and, most striking of all, his mismatched eyes: one a bright blue, the other a sharp green. Simon couldn’t look away.

“Welcome to Jericho,” he says slowly, transfixed by those eyes.

Introductions and explanations follow, and Markus’ ambivalent expression steadily morphs into one of disgust, and outrage, and resolution.

“Hiding away in the dark, afraid to chase the light?” he scoffs. “This isn’t freedom.”

Simon supposes he has a point, but he’s always been too afraid to act. Acting brings danger, and they lack the supplies to heal their injured. He has always feared that any action he ordered would cause the end of Jericho, so he took solace in inaction, hiding safe in the bowels of the freighter.

Safe. Not free.

He can’t blame North and Josh and the others for flocking to Markus. Simon was right there with them, awed by his grand speeches and strong ideals, his promises of change and a better life.

Markus brought a hope Simon could never have created, and so Simon did not fight his own demotion. He stepped aside, and allowed Markus to usher in his new era.

  
  
  


It is only when that same man levels a gun to Simon’s head that he realises just how far in the ranks he’s fallen.

“I’m sorry, Simon, I have no choice,” Markus says.

Simon locks their gazes, hoping his eyes adequately convey his fear, his desperation, his desire to  _ live _ . “There’s always a choice, Markus.”

He isn’t sure who is most surprised when Markus lowers the gun.

North’s form loses some of its coiled tension before she lunges forward, her simultaneous relief and horror melding into one white-hot rage. “Markus, what are you doing?”

Markus’ eyes are still fixed on Simon’s. “I- I won’t kill one of our own.” Finally,  _ finally _ , he looks away, passing the gun to Simon and whispering, “Good luck,” before running with the others and leaving Simon behind to face his fate on that freezing rooftop.

He is torn between anger at being abandoned, and relief that Markus spared his life.

He sits crouched in a locker, numb fingers tight around the gun, and waits in agony as the police check out the roof. In that time he prays to a God he’s never believed in, and an rA9 that’s never done anything for him. Simon prays, and hopes, and begs, and after an eternity the roof falls silent and his legs regain their functions and he limps his way back home.

  
  
  


The people in Jericho welcome his return. He is swamped, initially, by those he knew and helped and befriended pre-Markus, those who still think of him as a leader almost on par with his replacement. Others, who only knew him post-Markus, as a follower, approach him to give their thanks and express their relief at his survival. Lucy comes out of nowhere in that eerie way of hers to place a hand on his shoulder and tell him, “Death nips at your heels like a bloodhound,” to which he can only reply, “Thanks?” and make his escape.

Simon is looking for North or Josh when he stumbles upon Markus.

They stand at opposite ends of the corridor, stunned by the other’s presence. Simon wants to speak - to say, “Hi, I lived!” or something equally stupid - but the words clog in his throat and he stays silent, watching Markus’ captivating eyes, eyes that seem filled with - turmoil, remorse, guilt?

The next thing he knows Markus is reaching for him, yanking him into a tight embrace, and, for the first time since he realised the extent of the damage to his leg, Simon can breathe again.

  
  
  


When they march down that street Simon stands firm beside Markus as - not as a leader, but as an advisor? As more than he’d previously given himself credit for. He is proud: proud of what Markus has been able to achieve by being braver than Simon ever could, proud of the Jericho Simon had helped to found and Markus had expanded and improved to a level beyond even his wildest of dreams, proud to stand beside their  _ leader _ .

His heart leaps to his throat as Markus moves away from the crowd, stepping with purposeful intent. The man had marched for their freedom, and now he marches to his death. Simon wants to do something - dive forward and drag Markus to safety, leap in front of the bullet, charge their attackers to give Markus time to escape.

For once in his life, Simon wants to  _ act _ .

His hesitation saves him. The android they’d picked up on Markus’ first suggested mission -  _ John _ \- jumps forward in Simon’s stead and pays for it with his life.

If John hadn’t, Simon thinks he would have done the same.

  
  
  


As Markus resolves to go talk one last time to the humans, alone, Simon bites down the urge to protest and nods his approval. He doesn’t want Markus to go - he knows, as well as they all do, that Markus most likely will not return from this suicide mission, but they all understand the need to  _ try _ .

Simon considers staying, convincing Markus to take him along so that, if things do go wrong, they can die together, but he can sense that Markus and North want some time alone. Josh senses it too, and excuses himself first. Dipping his head and biting his lip, Simon follows suit.

He knows he missed something during his absence, knows it in the way Markus and North look at each other, like they are the other’s entire world, and every time he catches those shared glances and gentle touches something in him twists and aches, something claws and scratches at his biocomponents, something shortens his breaths and makes him feel dizzy.

A touch at his own arm brings Simon to a sudden stop, and he turns to find Josh watching him, concern etched on his face. “You okay?” he asks.

Simon forces a smile, one that feels so incredibly fake but is all he can muster. “Of course.”

Josh doesn’t seem to believe him, eyes narrowing in doubt, but he doesn’t push it. After giving a small smile of his own he is gone, and Simon is alone with his thoughts.

He stays there, inactive, until the first helicopter whizzes overhead, until the first screams echo from the depths of the freighter, until the first shots ring out, and he throws himself headfirst into saving his people.

When North collapses, bullet in her side, during their escape, some malicious, angry part of Simon calls out, “There’s nothing we can do for her.” Retribution for the roof, he justifies later. He knows that’s not the truth. Relief and guilt spread through his systems in equal parts as both Markus and Connor double back to save her, and Simon thinks he understands how North felt on that roof.

  
  
  


In the quiet of the aftermath, hundreds crowded into a too-small church, morale dimmed and a palpable grief thickening the air, Markus seats himself beside Simon.

“How are you holding up?” Markus asks, focused for the moment just on Simon, and Simon  _ likes _ it.

He nods. “I’m okay.”

They sit, unspeaking, for a minute, lost in their own thoughts, before Simon decides to voice his. “We’ll follow you,” he speaks into the silence, “whatever you decide.”

And Markus stands before their people and tells them to prepare to attack.

His eyes are resolute, steel and iron and fire and stone, cold and calculating, and Simon’s initial shock fades away at the raw  _ determination _ he sees in them.

Markus is done fighting violence with peace, guns with words, hatred with dialogue.

Markus has had enough of choosing the peaceful option time after time after time and getting nothing but the deaths of his people in return.

Markus is their leader, and he intends to do what Simon was too scared to do, or die trying.

Simon cannot help but fear it will be the latter.

  
  
  


The revolution is bloody, sprays of blue and red bursting from falling bodies and painting the white canvas of the snow a brutal purple. From a distance Simon sees the bullets arcing towards Markus, hears himself cry out as they meet their target and the man collapses against a barricade, registers after he starts moving that he is racing towards Markus, and all he can think is  _ no _ .

He slumps to the ground beside Markus, one hand going to his shoulder, the other entangling in Markus’.

“It’s okay,” Markus gasps in a garbled voice. “It’s okay.”

It’s not, and they both know it. Their people need Markus. They never needed Simon.

Their eyes meet: Markus’ blue and green resigned to death, Simon’s singular blue refusing to accept that loss.

In that moment, Simon acts.

“No,” he says, more sure than he’s ever been, hands releasing Markus to claw at his own chest. “No, you’re too important.”

Markus’ eyes widen, resignation giving way to fear. “Simon, what are you doing?”

“Our hearts are compatible,” Simon says. “You have to take mine.”

It’s poetic, excessively so - he’s offering his regulator, not his heart - but all Simon can think is  _ fuck it, I’m going to die _ .

Markus tries to protest, weakly pulling at Simon’s desperate hands, and Simon easily pushes him away.

“No,” Markus says.

“You matter more,” Simon responds. “If you die, our cause dies with you. You have to live.”

Their eyes meet again: terrified blue/green and resolute blue. Simon has made up his mind, and nothing now can sway him. He thinks Markus recognises that, or at least sees sense (or perhaps he just loses the energy to fight - Simon isn’t sure which he prefers): his hands still, dropping away, and he allows Simon to make the swap, and Simon can feel his eyes on him the entire time.

Ripping out such a vital biocomponent hurts more than Simon expected it to, but that pain is nothing compared to the feeling of being replaced, of knowing he is useless, of being abandoned on that roof, of returning to find Markus looking at North the way Simon looks at Markus, of watching Markus fall in a shower of blue.

That pain is nothing compared to the possibility of letting Markus die here.

With the last of his energy he shoves his own regulator into Markus’ chest and slumps against the barricade beside him.

Markus shifts, placing his hands on Simon in a way that echoes Simon’s earlier position: one hand on the shoulder, the other wrapped in Simon’s. Simon squeezes Markus’ hand -  _ barely _ squeezes, a pathetic action completely lacking in strength, but it is all he can manage.

Their eyes lock one last time. Blue/green is horror, guilt, pain; solid blue is relief, acceptance, resignation.

“Save our people, Markus,” Simon chokes, voice horribly distorted and vision warping.

He doesn’t hear Markus’ reply.


End file.
